


Kilometres to Millilitres

by smokeopossum



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Cis Female Character, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, F/F, Humiliation, Mile High Club, Omorashi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Voyeurism, Watersports, Wetting, also sort of, ssssort of, these hands are only capable of creating filth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-05-23
Packaged: 2018-11-04 04:49:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10983714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smokeopossum/pseuds/smokeopossum
Summary: She fidgets and finishes off the rest of her thermos, feeling a dull ache start up below her stomach, and starts mentally calculating how much longer they’ll be in the air versus when Amélie might realistically wake up.Only a few hours. She’s held it for that long before, and it’s not so urgent just yet.Easy.Forty minutes later, it was feeling less easy.





	Kilometres to Millilitres

**Author's Note:**

> READ THE TAGS READ THE TAGS READ THE TAGS READ THE TAGS  
> i don't want anyone going into this not knowing what they're in for. okay? okay
> 
> anyway hi remember that thing i said about multiple wips at once? stuff occasionally gets finished around the same time. so months of silence and then back to back updates are a thing. whoops! i haven't focused on a single thing a day in my life
> 
> there is one (1) word which likely requires translation and i put it in hover text & at the end notes
> 
> ty to my gf and a special friend for beta work

She’s nearly finished with her first thermos of tea when she starts to worry.

The plane hums around her, only the soft snores of her teammates interrupting the drone of its engines, and she shifts in her seat.

It might have been a mistake drinking so much, but she _really_ hated falling asleep on flights. Having to cram herself into the small bathroom at the back of the cabin a few times a trip was usually a small price to pay for staying awake, but it’s also usually a price she’s able to pay _freely._

Tracer hadn’t given it a second thought when Widowmaker had asked to stretch out over her after their exhausting mission. It was a long one, particularly for her - getting chased off a perch once or twice by rogue omnics was one thing, but having to deal with that in addition to a horrid thunderstorm and _still_ land every shot perfectly? Anyone would be tired afterwards. Tracer thinks she’s earned a nap at the very least.

And she can’t very well get up with Widowmaker’s legs slung over her lap, can she?

As far as she can tell, Amélie is out cold, arms crossed and head nodded forward over her chest as she rests against the window, and she would hate to wake her after today.

It probably wouldn’t be too big of an issue if she woke her while moving her legs out of the way, but Lena would still feel bad about it, and if she’s honest, she’s a little too tired herself to be gentle about getting those heavy metal boots off of her. She fidgets and finishes off the rest of her thermos, feeling a dull ache start up below her stomach, and starts mentally calculating how much longer they’ll be in the air versus when Amélie might realistically wake up.

Only a few hours. She’s held it for that long before, and it’s not so urgent just yet.

Easy.

Forty minutes later, it was feeling less easy.

They’d run into a spot of rough air and Lena grit her teeth as the cabin shook and vibrated, her bladder giving a sharp twinge of protest. Amélie hadn’t woken, but she did let out a grumpy murmur and shift in her sleep, and now the shin guard on one boot was gently prodding at Lena’s abdomen. To make things worse, she was feeling sleepy again, leaving her with a tough decision - go without more tea and risk falling asleep, or have some more and make her need for the loo worse.

She picks up her second thermos with a frown.

It feels good going down, pleasantly warm and reassuring as tea always is for her, but it’s when it settles in her stomach where the problem arises.

The dull ache in her bladder turns to a steady throb and she struggles not to squirm in her seat - for one, she knows it will make her feel worse, and for two, she might wake Amélie up. She slumps against her seat to ease the pressure and taps her fingers against the armrest.

Only a few more hours.

She can distract herself for that long.

After another thirty minutes of mentally running through the schematics of every ship in Overwatch’s service, she’s no better off - maybe feeling a little more comfortable regarding the stability of the craft they’re in, but still very conscious of her need to pee. Knowing just how far she is from the cramped, windowless bathroom surprisingly doesn’t help.

She chews at her lip and wonders what she’s going to do. Maybe she really should just risk waking Widowmaker up?

Just as she has the thought, Amélie shifts yet again, brows pulling together in a sleepy frown. Her legs draw closer to her, almost off of Lena’s lap entirely, and Lena nearly sighs with relief.

Then the toe of her boot digs into her.

She whimpers as she feels her bladder strain in protest. She can’t help but squirm and squeeze her thighs together, letting out a long, slow breath as she tries to regain her composure. The toe of her boot presses at her again and she sucks in a sharp gasp, entire body tensing as she struggles to hold it. She looks over at Amélie only to find her eyes cracked open, a lazy smirk on her face.

“Having trouble, chérie?” Amélie asks with another gentle prod to her lower abdomen, voice low and raspy from sleep. Tracer shivers and squeezes her thighs together again, grinding down into the seat as a small wave of desperation washes over her.

“Yes! Yes, yes, just. A bit too much tea is all,” she breathes. “Didn’t want to wake you though, which is probably a bit silly, but I know today was a slog. But now you’re awake, so if you don’t mind--”

“Sit,” Amélie commands as Lena starts to get up. “I want to see you squirm for a little longer.”

She falls back into her seat with a faint blush, sitting up straight and bouncing slightly. “I really need to piss, Amélie.”

Widowmaker’s boot nudges at her tightly clenched thighs to open and she obediently spreads, sucking in a gasp as her bladder throbs. Her blush darkens.

“How badly do you need to go?” Widowmaker asks, crossing her ankles between Lena’s legs, one heel pressing against her mound. Tracer quietly moans as her hips jerk into the pressure.

_“Really_ bad,” she says with a huff. Her nails dig into the armrest. “Felt the urge starting just after we took off, but then you were on top of me all comfy-cozy, and you know I don’t like sleeping on these trips unless I’m proper knocked out, so I ended up draining one thermos and--” She squeaks as Widowmaker’s toe presses at her bladder again, whimpering and squeezing her eyes shut as she starts to bounce more obviously in her seat.

Despite everything, or perhaps _because_ of it, she’s getting turned on.

“You’re being awful mean,” Tracer whispers, eyes still closed. She can feel her face growing hot.

“You enjoy it.”

The pressure eases somewhat as Amélie’s boot returns to softly petting at her. Lena lets out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, but doesn’t respond. They both know she’s right.

“Are you wearing panties?” Amélie suddenly asks. Lena blinks and swings her eyes over to her, feeling herself warm further at the interested, focused look Widowmaker is giving her.

“Yeah... why?”

She’s not at all comforted by her growing smirk.

The throbbing in her bladder starts to worsen.

“I will let you up, of course,” Amélie begins, teasingly rubbing her heel against her, “but I would like if you allowed me to follow. I want to watch you wet them.”

She can’t help the quiet moan she lets out at the request, or the squirming against Widowmaker’s boot and the seat. “Alright, yeah,” Lena agrees with almost no hesitation, flushing at Amélie’s pleased chuckle. She takes a breath to steady herself when she’s freed.

Standing up is more uncomfortable than sitting had been - while sitting had been agonizing, she had appreciated the assistance in easing the weight off her bladder. Now, as she stands, she feels full and heavy, as if any movement might cause her to burst.

Widowmaker follows as she carefully heads to the restroom, past their other sleeping comrades, and into the small stall. Tracer turns to face her and clears her throat as Amélie closes the door behind them.

“So, do I just--” she begins, breaking off into a gasp as a cool hand slips under her leggings and carefully pulls them down to her knees. The other presses lightly at her abdomen and Lena’s knees knock at the sudden pressure, thighs clenching together tightly as she doubles over and struggles not to release right there, so close to her goal.

Amélie kisses the side of her head and cups her between the legs. She massages her over her thin blue underwear, fingers grinding against her clit through the cotton, and Tracer lets out a whine.

Arousal has made them hot and damp already, but she feels herself leak slightly as Widowmaker plays with her.

“Amélie _please,”_ she whimpers, squeezing at her arms.

“You may sit and go,” Amélie says with a purr, “but try to spread for me, mm?”

Tracer falls to the seat, biting at her lip and squeezing her thighs together to not just start as soon as she sits down. Widowmaker leans against the door, her eyes bright and hungry as she watches Lena slowly ease her knees apart, the rest of her face a calm mask of indifference.

There’s an obvious wet spot on them already.

“Go on, ma puce.”

Despite her urgent need, it takes her a moment to start - it might be the mental block against wetting her underwear, or the distinctly odd position she’s in, or even the sudden shyness from being watched, but she has to force herself to relax enough to let go. She sucks in a slow, deep breath and squeezes her knees.

It starts slow, barely a soft dribble, but quickly turns into a desperate flood.

Her face flushes brightly as her panties grow hot and wet against her, darkness quickly spreading along the fabric as the sound of her release fills the room. It seems loud, but not as loud as the moan of relief she lets out as her bladder is finally allowed to empty.

Her eyes flutter closed, cheeks burning, but it just feels so _good_ to finally let go.

Amélie watches quietly, expression inscrutable as she takes in Lena’s embarrassed blush and soft moans mixing with the heavy rush of urine. It’s over half a minute before the stream finally peters out, leaving them in a silence only broken by the occasional drip of her underwear and her quiet panting.

“... That was sort of hot,” Tracer eventually admits, running a hand through her hair and sitting back, legs still spread. Widowmaker’s eyes remain trained between her thighs.

“Do you want me to touch you?”

She blinks, then looks down at herself. Then back up at Amélie.

“Like this?”

“Oui.”

“... Do you _want_ to?”

A faint dusting of violet graces Widowmaker’s high cheekbones. Her eyes flick up to meet Tracer’s before darting back down to her underwear. “I asked you first.”

“Yeah, but you’d be the one touching my messy knickers, love. Unless that’s part of it for you, mm?” Lena slowly smirks. “You wanna touch while they’re still warm, Amélie?”

To their mutual surprise, Amélie gets to her knees.

Her metal boots clunk as they hit the flooring.

“There is... an appeal,” Widowmaker says as she reaches between Tracer’s legs with one hand to grind the wet cotton against her with her thumb. “The warmth, the mess... You are so pretty when you are desperate, chérie.”

Amélie rubs gentle circles against her clit, practically purring as she drags the soaked material against her. Lena jerks into her hand with a quiet moan, head tilting back against the wall as she looks down at Amélie between her spread knees. She feels filthy and hot with embarrassment, but she still finds herself spreading wider, unable to do anything besides wordlessly watch.

“Watching you struggle to control yourself, your relief at letting go... _ç’est magnifique.”_

Tracer whines and twitches into the soft touches between her legs, then gasps as Amélie’s fingers hook into her underwear and tug it to the side. Thin fingers brush against her clit in an almost reverent touch, dipping lower to trace over her lips. A cool mouth presses a kiss to the inside of Lena’s knee.

“Fuck,” Lena whimpers as a shiver runs through her. “Would this be something you want to try again?”

The hand petting at her freezes. Golden eyes flash as they dart up to meet hers.

“Would you?”

“Asked you first,” Lena teases, “but I’d be alright with it. Told you it was sort of hot.” She grins down at Amélie. “Maybe you’d really make me piss myself next time, yeah?”

A slender eyebrow lifts curiously. “How so?”

“You know, make me hold it ‘til I really can’t help it and wet myself. Almost did earlier.”

Widowmaker bites her lip, eyes flicking down between Tracer’s legs and back up. The purple flush returns. “... Perhaps.” Her fingers drag over her slit, nudging at her clit. “You should take off your underwear.”

“Think you could help me with my tights then, love?”

She nods and assists Lena in stripping down. The panties get tossed into the small sink. As Amélie stands and begins to wash them for her, Lena takes the opportunity to clean herself up and redress.

“... Thank you for indulging me,” Widowmaker mutters just over the rush of the water.

“Aw, love, you know I’d try most anything once for you.” She presses up against her back, arms reaching around her to wash her hands. She begins placing light kisses over the back of Widowmaker’s neck and shoulders, hips slowly grinding against her rear. “Still feeling a bit hot, actually. Did you want to keep fooling around? Bet you’re pretty worked up.”

Amélie lets out a pleased hum as Lena rocks into her, enjoying the warm lips brushing over her cool skin.

“I am,” she admits. She feels Tracer press a smile against her neck.

“Maybe I could help you out with that.”

She dries off her hands and returns them to Widowmaker’s waist, running her fingers over her exposed belly. Amélie hums and leans back against her, turning off the water and gripping at the sink as Lena undoes her pants and slides a hand underneath them. She meets slickness immediately and moans against Amélie’s neck.

“You really like the thought of making me piss myself, huh?” she asks, fingers slipping through her lips and squeezing her clit. Widowmaker sucks in a quiet breath before responding, hips rolling into the touches between her legs.

“I enjoy when you give me control,” she murmurs, head tilting to allow Lena to start kissing and nibbling at her neck. She shivers when a hot tongue travels up to her ear. Bright eyes meet her own heated gaze in the mirror.

“I like giving you control, love,” Tracer breathes as she starts rubbing circles against her. “You’re awful good at telling me what to do.”

Amélie huffs a laugh that trails into a moan. Lena’s fingers are hot against her, quickly encouraging her to warm up as well. Her eyes flutter closed as Lena pinches at her clit and slips her other hand down to tease along her slick entrance.

“I liked how it made me feel,” Lena continues, “hot and dirty and exposed. You looked like you were going to bloody eat me, too.”

“I still might,” Amélie teases, grinding back against her with a breathy chuckle.

Tracer gives a soft laugh of her own and presses into her with a single finger, then quickly slips in a second when Widowmaker lets out a quiet groan.

“Merde, you always feel so good inside me,” Amélie sighs out. “So _warm._ Faster, chérie, plus vite.”

“You know, you can call me hot, love, it’s alright,” Lena says with a giggle.

Amélie cracks an eye open to give her an unamused look in the mirror, though it’s quickly wiped off her face by a third finger working into her. She lets out an airy moan as they rub and thrust and curl against her, whimpering when teeth find the back of her neck in a firm bite.

Widowmaker isn’t the type of person to get weak-kneed, but Tracer is certainly urging her dangerously close to it.

“Plus fort,” she quietly gasps out as she spreads her legs wider, “plus fort, mon amour.”

Lena hums in acknowledgment as her fingers grind against her with rough thrusts. She bites at her again, sending sparks down Amélie’s spine, and quickly works over her throbbing clit. They both feel the usual slow, steady thump of her pulse speed up just slightly.

“You’re so lovely, Am,” Tracer whispers, watching Widowmaker bite her lip in the mirror. “Mm, absolutely gorgeous like this.”

She grins as that faint lavender flush returns and spreads across her cheeks. Her teeth scrape against her neck once more and Amélie lets out another moan with a jerk into her hand.

“Lena, I’m close. Don’t stop, s’il te plaît, don’t stop,” Widow breathlessly begs.

The fingers pressing into her keep to their steady, rough thrusts while the ones against her clit begin to quickly rub. Widowmaker’s head tilts back with a gasp.

“Oui, yes, yes, _merde,_ mon amour,” she whimpers. Her hips begin to tremble and twitch against Tracer’s. As it evolves into sharp, desperate jerks, Lena gives her neck a gentle kiss with a smile.

“That’s it, love,” she says, “cum for your dirty girl.”

“Merde, merde, merde, _merde,”_   Amélie chants. Her brows draw together, eyes shutting tightly, and as her face flushes a warm indigo she freezes in a silent scream. Lena stops the thrusting of her fingers to grind them against her fiercely clenching walls while she continues to mash her clit.

Widowmaker squeaks as she cums.

“Oh that was precious,” Tracer murmurs as she rubs her through her orgasm. Amélie weakly scoffs while her hips rock into the gradually slowing pets.

“If I were not so satisfied I would smack you.”

Lena gives her a wide grin in the mirror. “Plenty of time for that later, Amélie. What are we doing with my drenched knickers, by the way?” She tosses a glance to the soaked fabric still in the sink.

Widowmaker’s eyes flutter as Tracer’s fingers pull out of her and both hands slip out of her pants. “I’m keeping them,” she says, lips curling into a tired smirk as Lena licks her fingers clean. “They are my trophy.”

“Now hang on,” Tracer starts as Widowmaker begins to rinse and wring the underwear out. “I _like_ that pair.”

“A pity they now belong to me, then.” She turns to press a kiss to Lena’s cheek once she’s finished, chuckling at her offended look, and zips herself up. Despite the confined quarters, she easily sidesteps Tracer’s attempt to snag the underwear and opens the door to the rest of the plane.

As she maneuvers out of the cramped stall, Amélie claps a hand against Lena’s rear and flashes her a smug smile, tucking the underwear safely into her top.

“Do not forget to wash your hands, mm?”

**Author's Note:**

> ma puce = my sweetheart. it's pronounced 'puus' and if i see one more person say "haha like pussy" i'm going to uninstall
> 
> bunny: particularly if you want to change what it reads like now, which is that widow is just kinda flat-out grinning like she's in line for the omelette bar at a golden corral  
> possum: god  
> ...  
> bunny: But I demand it be acknowledged in the notes that earlier I made a remark involving Widowmaker, and I quote, "grinning like she's in line for the omelette bar at a Golden Corral," and you just accepted the whole remark at face value. And you therefore accept the headcanon that Amelie "Widowmaker" Lacroix just LOOOOVES Golden Corral.  
> possum: i thought in my head "does she really like omelettes like that" but i was too distracted with fixing the sentence to say anything  
> bunny: And now it's too late.
> 
> anyway thank you for reading!!! if you like my writing and want to support me, head over to [my tumblr](https://smokeopossum.tumblr.com/) to find out how


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